Waited
by Crazylanie93
Summary: Set during DKR. They all thought he was gone. They didn't ever bother to look for him. They figured he had left. They were Wrong. Oneshot.


**Just a thought I had as I went to sleep last night...**

**I don't own Dark Knight Rises or anything related...**

**And the opinions expressed aren't mine either.**

* * *

The city of Gotham was in utter havoc. The buildings burned around him, and the people travelled in packs; everyone too afraid to go somewhere alone.

Yes, it had a certain quality, but the man was a little bored with it. When _he_ was in charge…. Now _that_ was beauty. He didn't need to isolate the city to achieve his goals. No. The only reason that so-called _Bane_ was doing it now was to protect himself. All it would take is one hit to his silly little mask and his charade would be over.

The man sighed. He'd decided long ago that Gotham wasn't really worth his efforts anymore. Why put all the effort into creating chaos, when the _Batman _wasn't going to be there to try and stop him? Why would he take the fall for Dent's crimes in the first place? The man chuckles one small laugh under his breath for old times' sake.

And to make it even more obvious. Batman runs away from the petty little cops, and Bruce Wayne becomes a shut-in. No one hears from him. No one sees him. It took the man a few months to put the pieces together, but once he did, it made perfect sense.

And why would he need to play with Gotham anymore after that? The whole game was to figure out who Batman _really_ was, and he did. He figured out little Bruce's secret. Not that it would be any fun telling everyone though. No. That was a game to be played between the two of them.

The man had hoped for a while that Bruce would come out of his little Manor. He almost wanted to go there and blow it up or something- force him to come out- but that would take away the _fun_ of the chase.

So he waited.

And waited.

Nothing.

_Years_ went by and the stubborn Wayne _stayed in his house_!

The man spit on the floor in distaste.

A noise outside the window distracts him, and he wanders over aimlessly. Bane himself is actually walking down the alleyway beneath him. The man considers spitting on him- because really, what did he have to fear?- but resists the urge seeing the woman walking toward him.

Nobody else would have noticed that they were together, because they didn't make it obvious. They began at opposite ends of the alley, walking toward each other. Then they gave themselves away. A moment of eye contact and a small nod from the woman. Just the _tiniest_ inclination of her head.

She was the trigger. In that moment everything was clear for the man watching from above.

The man remembers the day Bane had warned everyone from that football field. He had scoffed at Bane's logic. Another one of Bane's many weaknesses.

The fact that he had given control of the entire situation to someone else was completely stupid. If you want to get something done, do it yourself. Don't just hand off the control.

The man had learned that one the hard way. Staring in disbelief at those boats that night so many years ago.

Everything had been going perfectly. He was about to achieve everything he had wanted- no– _needed_ to prove to the delusional _Bat_ beneath him. And once that happened, he would unmask the poor sap and laugh. Laugh just to laugh.

But no. The citizens didn't participate in the man's little game. And everything had gone awry after that.

And here he was, seven years later, watching Gotham panic under a stupid man's command. It was just so… _Pathetic._

And where was dear old Brucie? Batman showed up for a few days, but now he's gone. The man almost hopes that Bane didn't kill him. Not because the man wanted Bruce Wayne alive, but because he wanted his last revenge. He wanted his last fight with the Bat. And he wanted him to know that the man knew his secret.

The weeks pass and there is no sign of the Bat. The city is in near shambles from lack of real organization and the man almost wants to step in. Almost.

But to do that would go against his original decision. He didn't feel the desire to wage war on Gotham anymore without the Bat around and he wasn't going to start now. And he certainly wasn't going to fight with or even _against_ Bane. He was all too predictable and it really didn't… _interest_ the man to do that.

After a few more boring weeks, the man hears some commotion outside the window. He walks over and noticed_ Commissioner_ Gordon talking with a few people. And wait. The _trigger_ is down there with him. Now isn't that interesting? The man chews his cheek absentmindedly, feeling the rough pull of scar tissue. A few minutes pass and two groups of Bane's men come. One on each side of Gordon's little gang. They take Gordon and the trigger, and the man laughs silently. Look at what the little commissioner has gotten himself into _now_. Oh well… It's not the man's problem.

It's evening when the man notices it. Up on the bridge. A huge flaming _Bat._

It's about _damn_ time.

The man's fingers twitch with the _longing_ of the chase. The absolute _need._

But Bane is out there and will get in the way. The man knows it's probably best to just be patient and wait. He can only hope Bane won't injure the Bat _too _much. No, the man wants his turn with that.

Two days go by, and the man has gotten more and more restless. When will it finally be over? He's waited _seven_ _whole years_ for his chance and now it's finally, _finally_, here and Bane has to be the one enjoying it.

The man is watching out the window. Seeing the Bat's new flying toy makes the man muse. Hmm, if he uses _that_ in their fight, it will present more of a challenge. But it won't be impossible.

The current fight with Batman is taken underground and it seems to take forever.

He wanders into his closet and looks at the box. He hadn't opened it in years... The lure of fresh paint cold and soft against his face was near-overwhelming. A few strands of his long greasy hair fall into his eyes, and he breathes silently; trying to remember the absolute _joy_ he had while running the streets. Everyone had known his face. Known it, and _feared_ it.

A loud crash pulls him back toward his window. He looks over to the bridge where he can see the middle crumbling into the river. Someone must have tried to cross it. Idiot.

A small part of the man's mind wonders what will happen if the bomb _does_ go off. Well, the man has never feared death, and he certainly doesn't now, but the thought of dying _without_ his chance at Bruce Wayne… It hurt him just to think of the possibility.

A minute passes in silence and he sees Batman's flying toy rise out from an overpass. He wonders if it's finally his turn to play.

He sees the big metal ball of the bomb being carried beneath it.

What exactly is the Bat playing at?

He watches with wary eyes as the Bat flies over open ocean. And keeps going and going. If that thing has a six mile explosion zone then it makes sense he has to go far. The man wonders about the woman again and hopes that the Bat took her out before he decided to go out there. He wouldn't sacrifice himself would he?

The flying toy is just a speck now. Flying into the sunset. The man wonders when he is going to turn around.

He doesn't expect the explosion.

The big mushroom plume almost looks like a picture and the man just stares in shock for a moment. Slowly, he begins to grasp what has happened.

Batman is dead. Bruce Wayne is dead.

He was never going to get his second chance at redemption.

It built up inside him slowly. Like a fire. It began as a soft laugh. Something quiet and under his breath. But it began to build. And build. And soon it became a wild maniacal cackle that felt like it started in his toes.

He was never going to get his second chance. He was never going to redeem himself. He wasted _seven years_ of his life _waiting_.

And now... It's as if fate decided to spit in his face. Everything he had hoped for, gone. In one tiny second.

It was hilarious.

He laughed and laughed, not noticing at first the almost choking pressure. His eyes began to water, and he wasn't sure if he was laughing now, or crying. But if he _was_ crying, it was only because he was laughing _so_ hard. He tried to walk forward, and fell against the wall.

Seven years.

He had a difficult time holding himself up, his ribs began to ache. He hadn't laughed this hard since…

Seven _whole_ years.

He couldn't even see anymore. His eyes watered to an extreme level and he couldn't control his crazy cackle.

He tried to turn around and tripped over something, probably his own feet. He hits his head on something and notes that suddenly he can actually see the sky above him. In fact, that's all he sees is the sky. He must have fallen out his open window.

The air is pushed out of him roughly as he hits the ground with a harsh _Thump_! His ribs hurt and he starts to cough in between cackles. He sputters and chokes on warm liquid seeping into his mouth, but still manages to keep laughing. The pain echoing through his body does nothing but encourage more laughter. How many times had the Bat hit and kicked him? And he never showed an ounce of the hurt or break that the hit caused. He just laughed in the Bat's face, hoping that he could finally pull him down to the man's level.

Pressure squeezes around his heart. He can't even pull in a full breath. Maybe one of his ribs splintered and is pushing into something vital. He couldn't care less. He can't get over the fact that he actually wasted all of those years. Waiting.

The world gets a faint shimmer around the edges, and now he is coughing more than laughing, but he still can't gain control.

Seven years to have it end like this.

The thought makes him choke out one last laugh as the world fades around him.

It was just _too_ funny.


End file.
